


Pies Make Everything Better

by DanOfVulcan



Series: Quotidiana [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Tuckerreed, love and support, pecan pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10839597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanOfVulcan/pseuds/DanOfVulcan
Summary: “You had a bad day,” Malcolm said as he moved towards his husband. “So what?”





	Pies Make Everything Better

**Author's Note:**

> Huge shoutout to my amazing beta [prisdreamsbravely](http://archiveofourown.org/users/prisdreamsbravely/profile) for helping me with this one. You're the best!

To an outside observer or an acquaintance who’d known him only a short while—the man seemed like an ordinary bloke. No more interesting than anyone else, nothing to recommend him, certainly not someone who’s stand out from the crowd. It’d be hard to conceive of him as a man of action.

But in reality, Malcolm Tucker-Reed was _ nothing _ if not a man of action.

Once focused on what he had to do, Malcolm would devote his entire self to completing the task at hand. It was at his core, this discipline and tidiness.

Naturally, it extended to all spheres of his life.

Trying to guess whether he chose the military life because he identified with it as a Reed man, out of a  sense of history, or his personal conditioning, would be a pointless pastime. His self-discipline and drive propelled him to the art of war as much as the guns on a ship beckoned him closer, begging to be mastered.

Again, to a less attentive observer that’d go unnoticed.

However, these were no casual observers: they were his crewmates and they’d known him for quite a while now.

Ensign Sato and Crewman Cutler watched him stride sure-footedly down the corridor, carrying a lidded silver tray. Despite Tucker-Reed’s short frame, he seemed to take up the entire space. Malcolm was rather imposing in his poise and elegance-- his movements both lethal and cat-like.

To the two women, it seemed the man required an entire room to fit all his energy, his mind, his very  _ self _ when he was on a mission. He never claimed space, never fought for it, he simply took it up, naturally occupying it.

His inner defender, the one that spoke of sacrificing himself, of protecting those he loved, stepped up and took charge, and he had command of the room; he was its center, its walls, its fiercely beating heart.

“Now that’s a man with a goal,” Hoshi Sato observed as she watched Malcolm make his way to the turbolift.

“He doesn’t even look sideways,” Elizabeth Cutler chimed in. 

“Well”—Hoshi gently nudged her friend in the shoulder—“I’d say we’ll soon find out if his mission was a success.” 

As they entered the mess hall, the last they saw of Malcolm was his back, still as a statue’s, and just as imposing.

 

***

 

Malcolm stood in front of the door -- never had it seemed so imposing.

He took a deep breath, steadied himself, balanced the tray on one hand, and reached for the wall panel with the other.

He didn’t feel like chiming in. It wasn’t necessary.

Once the door slid open, Malcolm gazed into the room. His quarters. His and Trip’s.

Trip lay in bed. He had grey sweatpants and a white tank top on, and in his hands he held his harmonica.

He barely lifted his head as his husband entered their quarters.

“Hey, Darlin’,” Trip half-whispered, lowering his head immediately after. It was more of an acknowledgment, rather than a true greeting after a day away from his loved one, and Malcolm knew it.

“Good evening, Love.” Malcolm smiled at Trip, crossing the room towards the table by the window.

“So”—Malcolm set the tray atop the table, removing the lid—“you had a bad day?”

Trip didn’t say a word, though Malcolm heard him sigh. 

Malcolm turned to find Trip had his hands over his face -- the harmonica lay on his stomach; it moved up and down with his breathing.

“You had a bad day,” Malcolm said as he moved towards his husband. “So what?”

Malcolm sat on the mattress beside Trip.

The blonde tried talking, his hands over his face, and all that came out was a muffled sound. Malcolm reached for Trip’s hands, taking one in his.

“Come again, Love?” Malcolm asked.

Trip sighed, then took a deep breath before talking again.

“It was the worst day ev’r, Mal.”

Malcolm squeezed his hand, and realization dawned in Trip’s brain.

“Wait a second,” he said. “How did you know I had a bad day?” Trip sat up, the mattress giving slightly under the weight. “Was it that obvious?”

Malcolm smiled facetiously.

“So?” Trip pressured his husband, causing Malcolm to giggle.

“You’re pretty pushy for a man who was sad not a minute ago,” Malcolm joked.

Trip merely stared at him, blues eyes as intense as ever.

“Mal?” His tone was serious as he pinched Malcolm’s leg with his free hand.

“Alright, Alright,” Malcolm said, not bothering to avoid the pinches. “The captain told me.”

“He what?” Trip tried his best to not sound as dumbfounded as he felt.

“He did.”

Trip sat with his back ramrod straight. “Why?”

“Well, you see”—Malcolm adjusted himself on the mattress—“he’s your friend, and he cares deeply about you. He also happens to know that we are married.” Trip looked absolutely done with Malcolm, and the latter knew he was playing with fire. “And, since he cares about you,” Malcolm continued quickly, “and knows I care about you, we put our caring brains together, you see.”

“Ya did?” Trip started playing with the hem of Malcolm’s shirt.

“Yes,” Malcolm said, as he tried to untangle himself from Trip.

“What’re you doin’?” Trip asked, intrigued his husband seemed to be avoiding his caresses.

“Come.” Malcolm got up from where they were seated, pulling Trip by the hand. “You’ll see.”

With a few steps they crossed the room.

“Oh,” Trip said as they stood in front of the table.

“‘Oh’ is right,” Malcolm added as he pulled chairs for the two of them to sit.

“Is that really a pecan pie?” Trip asked incredulously.

“It sure is,” Malcolm replied as he got the cutlery and napkins that were on the tray, and placed them on the table. “Now sit down, Commander,” he jokingly ordered as he pushed Trip into a chair.

Malcolm could see the first signs of a smile forming on Trip’s lips, the subtle tensing of the muscles around the mouth, the trembling of the upper lip. 

When Trip heard the sound of the knife scraping the bottom of the cake pan, his full smile broke out. Malcolm felt proud, overjoyed, no smile he could conjure would ever translate his inner emotions. And he knew, once Trip saw the moist wedge of pie set aside on a small dish, that he had made the right choice.

“You had this done for me?” Trip asked, voice husky.

“I did.”

Trip only stared at him, blue eyes gleaming.

“The captain told me about your shift shenanigans”—Malcolm took Trip’s hand in his once more—“and we decided we had to do something.” He paused briefly to make sure Trip was with him. “I wasn’t sure what that’d be, though.” Trip kissed Malcolm’s hand. “So,” Malcolm continued. “I decided to ask for a favor.” Malcolm smiled. “I went down to the galley and asked Chef for a pecan pie for two.”

“You did not!”

“I certainly did!” Malcolm said energetically. “I had never asked for anything before, and Chef was actually thrilled with the request.”

Trip was at a loss for words.

“Here.” Malcolm lifted a forkful of pecan pie in front of Trip’s eyes. “Taste it.”

Trip bit it, moaning in delight as the sweet flavor lingered on his tongue. “I feel better already.”

Malcolm felt warm inside at the sincerity and relief in his husband’s tone. “More?” he asked, a morsel already on the fork.

“Ya gonna feed me pie?” Trip blushed.

“Only if you keep it between the two of us, Love,” Malcolm said as his cheeks turned to a shade of rose.

“I like the sound of that,” Trip said right before mouthing another forkful of pie.

He munched away, the sweetness rinsing away the bad taste the day had left in his mouth.

“Love ya, Darlin’,” Trip said, blushing and staring into grey-green eyes.

“Love you too.”


End file.
